I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. . On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese. Where is your hat?’ ‘Parbleu, is this a way to rescue me?’ Melusine demanded, digging in her heels and wrenching her arm out of his hold. It’s awkward, but we’ll get round it somehow. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now.
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